


red rim

by kinpika



Series: the hollow thought [1]
Category: Vampire: The Masquerade, Vampire: The Masquerade – Bloodlines (Video Game)
Genre: Family squabble, Set during early events
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-06-05
Updated: 2019-06-05
Packaged: 2020-04-08 01:37:02
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,540
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/19097095
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/kinpika/pseuds/kinpika
Summary: As Florence places the glasses down, cleanly pours the blood into each, and returns the cork to it’s place, she notes a: “you haven’t eaten in a while.”





	red rim

**Author's Note:**

> my ventrue, florence van der zee. v annoyed sebastian got the prince role lol

It’s well past three by the time Sebastian throws the doors open. Whatever the meeting was about, Florence was keenly aware of the way he smoothed his hair, straightened his shirt, and led the Malkavian out of his office. Said Malkavian was apparently none the wiser about the Prince’s little tics, and continued to wear that oddly dreamy look many a Toreador tried to replicate. 

Taking the presented opportunity to head inside, she moves, heels clicking behind her. Florence takes the usual seat, stage left of Sebastian’s desk, propping herself carefully in line with the paperwork that was scattered about. Drawings, notes, several bloodstains. From what she could make of it all, the Malkavian was due a little more credit in how well she seemed to handle the voices in her head, for making a delightful report. 

A crudely drawn map of downtown took the most space, large circles drawn around buildings. Ex’s over a notable amount of the outer streets. Florence had half a mind to think that nests were being outed, and found herself reaching across to tilt it _just_ enough to see if one of her buildings had been crossed off. Would explain why there was radio silence after all this time—

“Do not _touch_ , Florence. You are not a child anymore.”

Fingers withdraw, and Florence looks up at the rather pinched face of Sebastian. In the time he’d been gone, he’d cleaned up to present that regular image of pressed suits and perfectly combed hair. A regular Don. With a smile, Florence settles for picking a larger notepad, Sebastian’s handwriting looping over lines. “Busy night?”

Plucked from her hand as well. How quaint. Settling for pushing herself to her feet, Florence makes her way over to the liquor cabinet. Reaches for two glasses, and the rather brilliantly red bottle just towards the back. Sebastian had moved, sitting behind his desk once more, sorting papers. As Florence places the glasses down, cleanly pours the blood into each, and returns the cork to it’s place, she notes a: “you haven’t eaten in a while.”

Sebastian actually looks up at her then, clearly unimpressed with her observation. Gives himself away just a little more, with how his pallor had started to go that ugly yellow he once carried for an entire six months before giving in to feed as a fledging. “I haven’t had much time to.” 

With a click of her tongue, Florence sips at her glass. “Call Mercurio back.” Simple solution. No doubt the Ghoul would listen to whatever his master’s whims were. 

“No, he’s busy in Santa Maria.” Sebastian was typing with one hand while he continued to stare at her. Well, wasn’t he getting fancy in his old age? She had half a mind to comment on such things, but instead resolved to continue pressing.

“Doing what exactly? Roughing up the local gangs? Smuggling goods off the Pier? Which, as you may still have yet to realise, is under constant watch because of those murders.” Florence flicks off the tiniest speck of dirt, before continuing to drink. 

“Florence, I will not remind you again to _watch your tone_. Mercurio is busy on my orders, and will remain that way for some time. I can’t afford to bring him here for a night or two because of that.” The clicking of keys stops. A twitch in his fingers, like an involuntary flex. That was new. She files that away for later.

So she sighs instead, as if annoyed by his continued dismissals. “Then allow me to… _fetch_ someone for you.” And she nudges the glass further across the desk, towards him. “You cannot afford any Barons walking in and seeing you like this.”

At least he takes the glass, even if he doesn’t drink immediately. Sebastian instead carefully twirls it in his free hand, eyes trained on the blood. Florence drains the rest of hers, and pours another. 

“I’ll feed tomorrow, if it will keep you quiet.” Sebastian finally speaks up, drinks his glass in one go. And what would the other Ventrue think, Florence has to wonder, as he holds it up, empty and stained. 

“Thank you.” Tilts the bottle, pouring him another. Florence sits on the edge of his desk then, noting how Sebastian had turned to stare idly out of the window. Sunrise wasn’t too far off, a couple more hours away at the very least. Had Veronica received her email yet? She would have to check that soon.

Taking the momentary lack of response from Sebastian, she turned her attention back to the stack of papers. Idle musings about the hospital, top of the pile. Barely, Florence could make out a description of how to get in and out, as well as what else to encounter inside. A name scribbled over and over, until it just jumbled together in ‘p’s and ’s’s and ‘a’s. Classic Malkavian nonsense.

“I know you believe I shouldn’t have spared the fledging.”

Sebastian’s voice doesn’t quite startle her, but it wasn’t something anticipated either. Of course Florence had given him an earful the drive back to the Tower, about how he had bowed to pressure and let the fledging live, but that had been the end of that. Until now, it seemed. 

“You gave in to the Anarchs.” Careful in tone now, testing the waters. Sebastian had been particularly snappy the last few times they had spoken about Anarch activity in both Santa Maria and the Downtown area, never mind Hollywood (that place had been practically crossed off the map as far as movement went).

“I risked a riot had I not let her live; you are well aware of that.”

“Yes, yes, that Nines Rodriguez…”

Turning back to her, Sebastian was surprisingly complacent. A little clearer in the face, after ingesting some blood, too. Not quite the same as a proper feed of course, but Florence might’ve even remarked he had colour back in him — if something were even possible. 

“Don’t underestimate him. Even I will admit that his charisma has gathered a large number of followers—”

“ _Brujah_ , Sebastian. Largely Brujah, who risk the Masquerade that is in place! I don’t know why we keep arguing about this.”

Snapping his jaw shut, Sebastian returns to looking somewhere just over her shoulder. Not quite meeting her eye. Such ‘deference’, as their Sire had once called it, was a weakness he never quite managed to weed out. “And had the fledging been Brujah, the reaction from the Anarchs would’ve been far, far worse.”

“So we just let some Malkavian wander the streets instead, listening to the voices that tell her what to do? _Wonderful_ decision.”

“She has her usefulness.”

That tone, right there, was unlike him. Like, for a fraction, Sebastian was slipping. If their kind could be considered wistful, Florence would’ve said that was Sebastian then and there. A far away look in his eyes, in another life. Florence knew that in that moment, he was back in France, nearly two hundred years in the past. 

“You’re too fond of her, Sebastian. Remain ever vigilant, that’s what—”

Sebastian snaps too, almost spitting venom. “Don’t remind me of what that old bastard used to say.”

It’s how his words strike, that has her snarl. “If you fall to her hand, because of some idle dream, I will do nothing to help, except witness you perish, dear brother.”

“Nothing would bring you greater joy, Florence. You have told me this many times before. Truly stirs the warmth of sibling relations, does it not?”

His words close. Draw the curtains, lock the door. There was the twisted face of the Prince. What was it that the Malkavian had giggled to herself before? Ah, yes. **THE JESTER PRINCE**. Truly an accurate name, with how he danced and pranced, as if the Ventrue placing him here was more an act of ridding themselves of a problem, than promoting him. 

Too bad the youngest and last Childe was a slave to his own pride. Their Sire would be rolling in his grave at the mere thought, having plucked Sebastian from the ranks of Napoleon after being so thoroughly pleased with how the war had turned. Florence knew she should’ve followed Nadia far north, away from the brat. 

If the Ventrue hadn’t demanded, she wouldn’t have set foot in this place. But she stands, hands running over the front of her skirt, hair flicked over her shoulder. Bottle and glasses left behind, Florence doesn’t look back as she leaves. Sebastian would have his little temper tantrum, perhaps break another window, and then she would be summoned once again tomorrow. 

Not until she’s out the front door, into the streets, does she take out her phone. One, for Veronica. A heavy voice comes over the line after exactly three rings. Sleepy, but ready.

“We need to push up the timeline, dear. The Malkavian is distracting him well enough, but we need more.”

Good thing that the Ventrue sent her along for that one particular teensy reason. Florence tugs her coat around her, smiles sympathetically as a couple staggers past her, and makes her way up the street. She might even manage to shed a tear, perhaps, when Sebastian faded to nothing. That would be something. 


End file.
